


Jungy-doo

by LifeLover



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 18:50:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11606787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeLover/pseuds/LifeLover
Summary: Based off the song, The Beggarman, by Spailpin. An OC's thoughts on Jungy-doo.Oneshot.





	Jungy-doo

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, this fanfic is inspired by the song, The Beggarman, by Spailpin, Column  
> MacOirea. Oneshot. OC's thoughts on Jungy-doo. I know, it's random. However, I really like the song and I wondered what it would be like to have Jungy-doo as a friend. Writing in law class, I came up with this. Please read and review! Old fic from my fanfiction.net account.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was part of my life. Always.

As I would grow up, he would be there – as uncle, cousin, older brother, friend and confidant.

His name was Jungy-doo.

He may have been a beggar, yet he filled our house with laughter, something that was rare since Father died.

My mother would laugh more, smile more when he was here. She would blush when he paid her a compliment. I think she was in love with old Jungy-doo.

He was certainly in love with her. During one of our meetings, he confessed to me that Suzanne (my mom) was the "prettiest little thing" he had ever seen.

My mom was pretty. I inherited her slim frame and blond, wavy hair. I inherited Father's green eyes and love of working. I inherited my mom's talent at picking up skills and Father's strength.

Jungy-doo was handsome as well, in a scruffy, wandering way. He had dark blue eyes and curly brown hair. He always had a little stubble that he would let me feel. And he always arrived at the same time each year.

When I was ten years old, Jungy-doo didn't come. Mom was frantic and sent me to look for him while she stayed at the house in case he showed up.

Someway down the road, I found him. Lying on the side of the road, propped up against a boulder. I ran to him. He was burning up with a fever! At my touch, he opened his eyes and in a hoarse voice said:

"Hello, Karen. You mind helping old Jungy-doo to Saint Suzanne?" (His nickname for my mom.)

I nodded and half-carried him home. Mom tried not to cry when she saw him and we put him in my bed, which fit him perfectly. (With me it was gigantic!) I went out and left Mom and Jungy-doo together.

He didn't get better. On my eleventh birthday, he died. Before he went, I talked to him. He asked me to take care of Mom. I told him that Mother loved him and he should tell her he loved her. We hugged for the last time and I said good-bye.

Then it was Mom's turn. I let them have some privacy and went out to the nearby hill with the ash tree. It had been our favorite place to play. I sat there and cried until I couldn't cry anymore. I then went home to prepare dinner.

At nine-thirty pm, my mom came out of my room. She didn't need to tell me anything. He was gone.

We buried him underneath the ash tree, as he had wanted. My mom put up a good fight, but both men she had loved had left. On my thirteenth birthday, she died. I buried her next to him beneath the ash.

Now I am nineteen years old and I have never left this land. I have my own beggar-man, Quaroo, who visits me. I've shown him the ash, now a stately old tree and told him the story. I've decided not to wait. When Quaroo comes on my twentieth birthday next year, I will tell him how I feel. I won't wait until it's too late.


End file.
